What I miss about New York

I lived in New York for three years. I moved there in June of 2000. The dotcom bubble had yet to burst, the Democrats still controlled the country and “Sex and the City” was the show of the moment. It was a charmed time, and New York was the epicenter of it all – a place where jobs were handed out like candy and the cosmopolitans flowed until dawn. Every 23 year old I knew was talking about bonuses and stock options, company Christmas parties in Miami and Friday afternoon beer pong tournaments in the office sanctioned by the 29 year old CEO. So confident was I in the power of New York that I got on the plane from Los Angeles with no job and no apartment, certain that the city would take care of me, which it did. Within two weeks, I had a job at a boutique PR firm (complete with yearly bonus, summer Friday schedule, and boss w/a coke connection), an apartment in up-and-coming Park Slope, and a charge card at Bloomingdales.

It was wonderful those first few months. I felt like Annie when she first descended upon Daddy Warbucks' mansion. I ate Thai food almost every day. I did lots of ecstasy and ordered from kosmo.com and was there for the birth of vodka and redbull and when all the cool restaurants were serving nouveau comfort food.

Then I was there when everyone subsequently lost their jobs. The 2000 election debacle. September 11th. Anthrax lurking in every envelope; our receptionist sorting our mail with gloves on. What sounded like fighter jets constantly overhead. Sitting on the subway, heart racing and scared out of my mind because the lights had gone out. Bad coke that tasted like dirt and made my throat hurt for days. Moving to an apartment smaller than my college dorm room and running my credit card bill up past $10k. Getting laid off (and learning that company loyalty is not always rewarded.)

But even when it was raining, my coffee guy was there and he always had my order ready (medium w/ cream and sugar) when he saw me coming. The woman who ran my drycleaner opened her own Chinese bakery and it was my dollar she proudly displayed to represent her first sale (a delicious fig cookie.) And when one evening, I hailed a cabbie to take me back to Brooklyn and subsequently realized I had no money, asked him to take me to an ATM and then found that the citys' ATMs were all inexplicably "down" (blackout preview?), he still took me home and waited while I ran inside for a check - finally telling me in broken English, "If I had a daughter, I'd want someone to do the same for her" - I realized - it's not New York, the city, that creates the magic, it's all these people.

That's what I miss.